


the way she shows me i'm hers (and she is mine)

by petasos



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Collars, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Mommy Kink, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 01:01:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20088343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petasos/pseuds/petasos
Summary: Porrim takes care of Dave, not because he asks, but because she wants to.





	the way she shows me i'm hers (and she is mine)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grubbutts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grubbutts/gifts).

> > This is relatively specific. Basically MDLB with Porrim and Dave. Doesn't have to be exact that but that kind of relationship? Big Mommy kink. Dave wears a collar, Porrim maybe lactates? Very soft and sweet and loving.
> 
> Well, I didn't fit any lactation in... and this ended up shorter than I'd wanted it to... but I do hope it's at least somewhat up to those specifications! I've never written mommy kink anything before, and I do hope I was able to get that right.
> 
> Title is from "Cherry Wine" by Hozier. Hozier in general for Dave/Porrim? Good post, OP. *NFWMB plays on repeat in the background.*

She runs silver-dark fingers through thin pale gold hair, and his mouth pulls into a smile at her soft touches, freckled arms pinned above his head with one perfectly manicured hand. Her black-painted nails dig a little into the skin on his wrists, but he’s okay with that; they both know he is, they both know he likes a little pain (the perks of being a time player and a space player, she supposes; you know each other inside and out, like the back of your own hand - she knows the scars on his arms more intimately than she’d recognize her heart splayed out before her.)

Porrim’s fingers trail through his hair, lingering on the side of his face, cupping his cheek with such fondness that a stranger would know is love. He’s mesmerizing, from his long eyelashes and pure white eyes to the curve of his lips, the way his nose is a little broken, how his eyebrows are darker than his lovely golden hair.

“How’s my sweet boy doing?” she asks, and it’s practically a purr in the way she speaks, her mouth pressed together in a thin black-glossy line. He likes when she wears lipstick during their rendezvous (if you can even call it that, when they’ve spent so long together); she likes the collar on his neck, fit with her symbol in jade-and-gold. She’s never been one for her symbol, but on him, it looks nice, suits the graceful curve of his neck and the freckles on his shoulders quite well.

Dave looks up at her, enthralled, and gives a shaky smile that matches his voice when he speaks. “Don’t stop, we haven’t even started, ‘rrim, let’s get this shit on the road like a fucking band tour. C’mon, babe, I’ll be the roadie or somethin’.”

She pulls her hand away and shakes her head. “_Not_ Porrim.”

His cheeks heat up the moment she says it, ruby-red and matching what she knows to be the color of his eyes. “Sorry, Mommy,” he says weakly, lowering his head a little away from her.

She cups his chin in her hand, pulls his face back up to face him. “It’s okay, honey, mommy’s going to take care of you, my sweet precious boy. You’ve been so very _good _for me these past few days… I want to reward you for that.”

(She always worries these sound like well-rehearsed lines, but she means them, every word, every syllable. Loving Dave is no easy feat, and loving her isn’t one either; they don’t fight often, but his bouts of jealousy and clinginess, her need to be needed - they match up like slightly off puzzle pieces, almost there but not quite.)

He lets out a low little whine in response to that.

“Use your big boy words,” she says, and strokes his hair.

“I’d, uh, like that, please.”

His voice is so soft when he talks, like he’s scared of disappointing her - her voice is thick and honey when she unzips her dress, turning away from him and letting it fall to the ground, resting around her hips; she can feel his eyes on her, admiring the vines of tattoos, like he always has. As if they’ll fade, or change, or disappear - as if he’s checking to make sure she’s the same her. “Like what you see?” she teases, and the blush on his face is enough proof he does.

She sits back down on the edge of the bed, drags her nails across his bare chest, and Dave makes a quiet noise, straining a little against the rope. She almost laughs, but she doesn’t want to embarrass him, he’s self conscious enough. She skims her fingers across the edge of his waistband, and his hips give a little hitch, his breath a little heavier.

The look on his face is worth it, eyes half-lidded and mouth just barely parted, tongue sticking a little between his teeth. She finds it sweeter than strawberries.

He’s already at least halfway to hard, and she dips a finger beneath his waistband, running it across his pale skin, and his hips jerk up in response, his face screwing up in apology without saying a word.

“Look at you, being so good for me,” Porrim whispers, smiling at him, pulling down his boxers with one hand. “Do you want me to touch you?”

The mewl he lets out in response is enough, but she raises an eyebrow at him, giving him a somewhat stern look, and Dave’s hands twist the rope a little, like he’s trying to gesture. “Yeah. I mean, yes, please, mommy, please, I’ll do anythin’.”

“That’s so sweet of you, Davey, baby.” She wraps a hand around his cock, and he whimpers as her fingers stroke down, then up - he tilts his head back onto the pillow and closes his eyes, and she reaches a hand down to cup his balls, stroking a little further down.

Dave lets out a quiet “shit” and bucks up into her hands, so she slows down, teasing at the head of his dick with the tip of her thumb, pressing it against the slit; a few beads of precum well up, and she licks it off when she pulls her finger back, tasting salt, her other hand curling back around him and tracing swirls to match her tattoos across the foreskin.

He’s looking at her, dazed, hips and legs twitching over the jade green bedspread. Porrim has him tied and collared, exactly how she likes him - he’s hers, nobody else’s (at least not right now), and not a single person can tell them to change, to be something they’re not. This isn’t Beforus, this isn’t Earth; this is their place to call home, and his pale limbs against jade green make for a very lovely home indeed.

Just the look he makes, mouth open, muscles in his arms tense and strained, spurs her on - she slides her fingers up and then back down, before lowering her head, taking him in her mouth.

“_Mommy_,” he breathes out, hips swivelling up into her face, and she can’t help but smile against him, reaching a hand between her legs to stroke at her bulge, peeking out of it’s slit and searching, dripping green onto her silver-gray fingers.

She pulls off of him with a pop, and smiles down at her Davey, her good boy. “Do you want me to take very good care of you?” she asks - there’s no ‘sex’, there’s no ‘fuck’; when he’s falling into littlespace the last thing she wants to do is break him out of it.

He nods, wordless, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes (he’s not sad, nor scared, just overwhelmed - and he’d use their safe word if needed, he knows there’s nothing wrong with that.)

So she spreads his legs, hand pulling off his cock, and he lets out a soft whine before she’s pulling out the lube and pressing two fingers inside of him, his thighs squeezing together involuntarily at the sudden intrusion. But he’s relaxing, his face glazing over with bliss, and it only takes a crook of her fingers inside him to know he’s not Dave right now, he’s Davey, he’s her sweet, sweet boy - just the way he doesn’t push against her like he does when they don’t play this game, lets _her _choose the pace.

He gives her a power over him that nobody else could possibly hold.

And she presses in easily, her hands gripping at his thighs - not hard enough to bruise, though there are bruises from where she has pressed too hard (on his thighs, his arms; there are scratches on her back and bruises on her own thighs to match.)

He writhes against the comforter before his legs come to curl around her waist, let her press in as deep as she wants - and she does, she rocks into him, her stomach burning, one hand gripping his dick and working at it as she always does. Her hips thrust into his readily and with no rhythm, hands shaking.

“You’re so sweet for me,” she mumbles, pressing her face into the crook of his neck, her fangs grazing his skin. “Come for me, baby.”

Dave’s hips tilt up into hers, then crash into the bed, spilling himself across her hand and their conjoined stomachs, letting out a soft little sigh as he comes down. He doesn’t say anything, just presses his cheek against her shoulder while she thrusts into him once, twice, thrice more, then spills over.

(There’s a reason for the jade colored sheets, after all.)

When she comes down from it, her body no longer shaking, and her bulge pulls back inside of her, she steadies herself and unties his hands, watching his arms fall to his side and then wrap around her without a thought.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice low and breathless. “You’re way too fuckin’ good for me.”

“I should say the same to you,” she says, and plants a kiss to his forehead. “I… I love you very, very much.”

And she runs her silver-dark fingers through his thin pale gold hair, and his mouth pulls into a soft smile at the one on her own lips, and he says, “I love you, too.”


End file.
